The following is a message from the purveyor of a relatively new party/cruising listing site, called Late Night Cruising NYC, who is a very nice guy and very smart, as well. I hope you'll check it out:
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Wednesday, 12/4/13 4:28 PM
Give it up, do as I say
Give it up and let me have my way
I’ll give you love, I’ll hit you like a truck
I’ll give you love, I’ll teach you how to...
“Erotica,” Madonna ‘92
I live just off 8th Avenue, near Penn Station. This is also where I host the parties.
When Madonna first moved to Manhattan, she lived at Chelsea Star, which is a couple of doors over from me. I often sit on the same Post Office steps, where she once sat looking across the street at Madison Square Garden, knowing that she was seeing her destiny. I told this to my friend, Carlos, who’s lived in this building for a very long time. He remembers her and said, “Not only that, I’d watch her walk in front of the building, find the Puerto Rican with the biggest cock, then take him by the hand and escort him back to her room.”
I like Lady Gaga, I respect Lady Gaga, and I play her music at the parties. But Madonna already invented her. She just won’t have nearly as long a career if she continues to party the way she does. That’s just the way it is.
On July 1, 1988, I spent a day in Manhattan with my friends from Long Island, most of whom had some experience in Manhattan (as well as taking the Long Island Railroad). I had never taken the train and I’d never been in Manhattan, alone. I was 19 years old.
We’d spent the latter part of the day in and around Greenwich Village. We also walked to and from the Lower East Side to meet up with a friend of someone in our group. I was a white boy from Long Island, wearing a tie-dyed Grateful Dead shirt, and likely very wide-eyed. At one point, now in the LES, I remember feeling that we were in a different part of town. Having been staring at the street in front of me for some time, I heard music and people; I raised my head and saw what initially reminded me of the painting shown during the credits of the 70s TV show, Good Times.
Did I say I was a white boy from Long Island?
There were a bunch of black folks hanging around on the street. One tall, thin woman said, “What’re y’all doing in our part of town?” It was a rhetorical question.
Back at Washington Square Park, we sat at the southeast part of the circle. That was around the time I first started smoking weed, but I don’t recall if any of us had any. I do remember a few of my friends inhaling whip-its there.
After Teddy and Christine left to catch a train to see The Ramones at L’amour East, in Brooklyn, I also left the group. I challenged myself to get back to Penn and take the train without help from anyone.
I walked up 8th Avenue through what was soon to become “Gay Chelsea,” but it definitely wasn’t that, yet. Somewhere around 15th Street, I walked past a utilities trailer, out of which walked a young black woman. As naïve as I was, I realized she was a crack whore. She started walking with me, up 8th, asking me if I would like to go back to the trailer for a $5 blowjob. I don’t recall what else we talked about, but after maybe four blocks, I stopped and gave her $5 anyway. I totally was not interested in a blowjob (from her), nor the pimp in the trailer who was likely waiting to hit me over the head and take all my money.
White boy. Long Island.
By about 28th Street, some young, white, grungy looking dude started walking with me and acting weirdly. So I started acting weirdly, too, in an attempt to get him to leave me alone. By the time I got to Penn Station, he peeled away from me.
I was very proud of myself for being able to defend myself from two obviously very sinister city people!
But then I couldn’t find the entrance to Penn. I walked down the subway entrance at the southeast corner of 33rd and 8th, and came upon a Latino couple sitting on the subway turnstile, kissing each other. I asked where Penn Station was, to which the dude replied, “Upstairs.” I said, “But this is where I remember being,” and he ignored me. Back up the stairs, I found my way to Penn, and made my way home. By myself.
I think of this a lot, because I now live so close to Penn, just off 8th Avenue. Every time I walk out of my building and head to 8th, I see in my mind’s eye, my 19-year-old self walking just ahead, trying to get rid of that crazy dude talking to me.
Life is so weird.
Ö Ö Ö
Treasure Island Media shot a scene here, the other day. Max Sohl and crew. They’d actually shot a video at my old Perry Street space in June ’10. That video is called, “SPERM ASSAULT,” and it’s the leading scene (as well as the cover shot).
Since then, guys have said, “I was jerking off to a video and I suddenly realized, Hey, that’s Scott’s place!” It’s very easy to tell because of the bright green walls, the plate glass mirrors placed to look like a grid, and the giant blue grid on the ceiling.
When Max was here for the second shoot, he told me that when he first walked into the Perry apartment, he saw the green walls and thought, Uh-oh...this may not work well. Turned out the green was not only awesome, but it’s a favorite scene among many because of the green walls, and how memorable it is because of the color. Not to mention the actors: Christian and Mr. Marky.
This Treasure Island crew is phenomenal. So professional, so relaxed, so unpretentious, so nice. The first time was superb, but this one was even better.
At Perry Street, they were all in-and-out, in less than two hours. Maybe less than ninety minutes. The set-up and clean-up, the time it took the actors to say Hi and undress, the twenty minutes they actually fucked. I sat on the floor, behind the kitchenette island, with Pinky Dude, my cat. They weren’t my type, so I wasn’t really interested in watching. I think I did a crossword puzzle, occasionally peeking around the corner to see what they were up to.
The guys at this shoot also were not my type (I get off on regular, middle-aged men, with decent bodies), but the scene took a lot longer. That is not to say it was problematic for me; quite the contrary: they were all so cool that I couldn’t have cared less how long it took.
I won’t divulge the identities of the actors, nor the title of the movie, in deference to Max and crew, but I will describe how it went.
First of all, they were precisely on time. The top arrived a few minutes later, but the crew needed time to scope the space and set up, anyway. There was not one iota of drama or anything uncomfortable at all. I’d bought some Snapples and had them set up where they’d be filming. One of my cats went sorta missing – I found him hiding behind a curtain downstairs, before they began shooting.
During the actual shoot, I sat at my “station,” upstairs, working at my computer. I could tell when they were shooting (so to speak!) because that’s when the talking stopped. Even from up here, I heard the oohs, aahs, and kissing sounds.
But then there arose a problem: the bottom couldn’t get all the top’s cock in. His hole was too small!!! It was actually his colon, which was too short...or just somehow blocked.
I always keep enemas in the bathroom, yo.
The top was like, “My dick just gets to a point and it won’t go in any further.”
So one of the crew came up and asked if I had any poppers. I did, of course. But then the bottom started passing out. I think he passed out twice, maybe three times. Damn poppers.
The bottom spent time in the bathroom, while the top put his clothes back on and got some fresh air, outside. When he came back in, I think the bottom went outside for a bit. I sat here and talked to one of the crew (Hi Johnny!), while the top lay on my bed, still with his clothes on, stroking his massive tool to get it hard again. I put on the video from Perry Street, which worked.
All rather surreal. But then so is my life.
Still on my bed, the bottom tried sitting on the top’s cock, a straight route up his ass, in an attempt to open up his hole. I was still sitting here whispering a conversation with Johnny, while Max sat, with his chin resting on his fist, watching the happy couple.
The young bottom, obviously pretty new to all this, was embarrassed at not being able to perform. What he didn’t realize is none of us really cared. That’s the thing about age and experience: we tend to learn that very little is actually about us, as individuals, and that problems tend to get worked out eventually. We just gave him what he needed, then waited patiently.
They went back downstairs and, maybe twenty minutes later, the deed was done. In the sling.
Working with these guys – actually, seeing these guys work – was a real pleasure. Totally cool. If you ever have the opportunity to have the folks at Treasure Island shoot a scene at your space, I highly recommend it.
And those of you who’ve been following me for a while know that I have never before recommended anyone for anything. I never want to be responsible if things go awry, but I can’t imagine that ever happening with Max and the crew at Treasure Island.
Max was kind enough to bring SPERM ASSAULT, the movie shot at the Perry Street space, as well as a bunch of others. So come check ‘em out. I hope to get some promos to give away at an upcoming party.
Ö Ö Ö
This Friday, we’ll be having a NOONER party, in lieu of the regular Friday night party. We haven’t had one in about six months, so we’re due. I don’t usually host them here because the in-and-out traffic is more obvious, in the day, than at night. However, doing one every once in a while should be fine. Like I said in a prior entry, the folks in this building are fabulously true New Yorkers. They get it.
The Örgy Guy
Monday, November 25, 2013
Here is our second video review, which is from Mike, who attended the Executive Lunch party at The Gramercy. It’s held on Thursdays, from 12PM to 3PM.
Disclaimer: always take any review with a grain of salt, whether it’s a good one or a bad one. Seriously, it’s always better to experience a party for yourself. The host’s information ought to be the most accurate, including date/time.
The Örgy Guy
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Hey guys, welcome to our first vlog party review. Always keep in mind that each person’s experience will almost certainly differ, so I don’t suggest reading too much in to what one person has to say. Every party that a host has is different. It’s a lot like sports, where each game is different, and not all of them are wins.
This review is from Brian in Chelsea and he’s reviewing Hunteur’s Wednesday night Hard Drive party at Paddles, located in Chelsea.
Thanks so much for taking the time to write and send your review, Brian. And to the rest of you guys, please send me your reviews and I’ll read them here. In the meantime, happy sexing and I hope to see you here at The Chelsea Duplex soon.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Monday, 11/4/13 5:30 PM
Every time that we kissed
It seems you were holding back
Don’t be so quick to pull away
“Tenderoni,” Kele Okereke ‘10
Last time I wrote, I mentioned seeing a performing group on the Q train, dancing to the Calvin Harris song, “Feel So Close.” Well I was recently on that same Q train, headed to the Barclay Center again, this time to see Pearl Jam. Wouldn’t you know it, but those same kids performed again to the same song. Still amazing. The first time, I’d asked them the name of the song so I could buy it. This time, I told them that I’d downloaded the song, along with a dozen-or-so others from the same artist. I suggested they try listening to “Tenderoni,” by Kele. I hope they consider using it – such a good song.
And yes, I gave them another $20. Told ‘em, “Just keep going.”
Ö Ö Ö
Before I start posting videos where I read and answer viewer questions and NYC party reviews (send me yours please), I first want to test my vlog chops by posting some video of the space.
So here is video of the space:
The Örgy Guy
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Monday, 10/7/13 9:01 PM
Outside table at Tello’s, 8th Ave & 20th St
I feel so close to you right now
It's a force field
I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal
Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall
And there's no stopping us right now
I feel so close to you right now
“Feel So Close,” C. Harris ‘12
Got my OG shirt on, figuring this is a good place to market the parties. I’m socially hopeless, so this is the best I can do.
I used to come here 10-15 years ago with my then (and now late) boyfriend, Nixon. Back when it was Mare and had fabulous oysters. We used to order them at the bar, with his extra dry Martini with one olive, and my Tanqeray & tonic.
I’m sure most of you remember it. It wasn’t long ago.
This whole neighborhood has changed. In the 90s, there was the Bendix “Get Fat” diner, I think at 21st Street; and, of course, Big Cup at 22nd, next to The Break...which became View Bar...which is now a Thai restaurant. I see Barracuda is still there, on 22nd. Even Splash is gone! Pretty sure it opened in ’87 (the year I graduated high school), but I didn’t find it until 1996. I was never a regular, but I was there many, many times.
16% of my guys come from 10011 (Chelsea south of 23rd Street), the most of any zip code.
Ö Ö Ö
If you’ve been to one of my parties, then you know that I’ve got a pretty neat check-in spreadsheet. Sorta looks like something on the starship Enterprise. I’ve got a very long emails list, on which I keep track of how many times a guy has attended.
There are some guys who’ve been to over a hundred of my parties. Some have been here once or twice, others five or ten times, but still others have been to 50 or more of my orgies.
For perspective, I’ve hosted 634 parties, since May 12th 2009.
Here are the Top 50 Attendees:
#50 is actually a 3-way tie, each having attended 23 times: John S. (50-something executive type; sucked his dick once), Oliver (who hasn’t been to this space, yet), and Jim (love this guy; fucked ‘em several times).
#46 is a 4-way tie, 24 times attended: Jose (from adam4adam), Phil (from Hunteur’s party), Mark (from Dimitri’s party; fucked ‘em a few times, including New Year’s Eve ’09 party, outside the bathroom), and Ben (from Dimitri’s party). I haven’t recruited guys from another party in a very long time, so these guys have been around a while.
#43 is a 3-way tie, 25 times attended: Eric (from Brooklyn; fucked ‘em once), Arne (whom I’ve known since ’97 and have played with dozens of times), and Brandon (whose hairy chest is displayed in a picture I have up for the “Come As You Are” video; he’s also in the “Prime Mover” video; fucked ‘em a few times, too).
#41, a 2-way tie, 26 times attended: Frank (for whom I always try to have a bottle of poppers waiting) and Gary (super nice guy, Dominican).
#39, a 2-way tie, 27 times attended: Angelo (one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, loves daddies) and Mike (friend of my friend, Art).
#38, 28 times attended: Alan, from the East Village.
#36, a 2-way tie, 29 times attended: Norman (from the West Village, who hasn’t come in a long time, but whom I do see walking around the WV sometimes) and Ben (who came to many of my East Village parties).
#34, a 2-way tie, 30 times attended: Octavio (gets fucked A LOT, fucked ‘em once) and Jay Jay (also of the EV, whose smile I miss).
#33, 33 times attended: Dave (also very nice).
#32, 34 times attended: David (who comes to my Thursday ERUPTION parties).
#31, 35 times attended: Jeff (who’s mostly into getting fisted, and almost always finds a willing participant).
#30, 38 times attended: Justin (who’s really into anonymity, often standing in a corner, ass-first, waiting for someone to use him).
#27, a 3-way tie, 39 times attended: Tony (Mr. Italian Top who likes bantering with me; sucked his dick), Dave (nice guy who doesn’t say much...which is fine with me, because neither do I!), and another David (“glasses David” from the West Village; also one of my favorites).
#26, 40 times attended: Chris (great guy who pretty much stopped coming once he started hosting his own parties...much like I did when I started hosting).
#25, 41 times attended: Michael (an architect; very nice guy; friend of my friend, Art).
#23, a 2-way tie, 42 times attended: John (the pounding top) and Randy (super nice; usually gets it done quickly).
#22, 43 times attended: Paul (likes to park himself on the bed with his ass up in the air).
#20, a 2-way tie, 46 times attended: Jason (from DUMBO; another phenomenally nice guy) and Phil (from Troy’s parties).
#18, a 2-way tie, 52 times attended: Ed (who colored my hair when it was long...doesn’t come anymore; I miss him) and Ray (a consistent regular since the Perry Street days).
#17, 57 times attended: Klaus (used to come every Thursday).
#15, a 2-way tie, 58 times attended: Ivan (Filipino bottom; one of my favorite people; fucked ‘em a bunch of times) and Leonard (who no longer comes because he’s in a relationship).
#14, 63 times attended: “G” (who led me to this apartment).
#13, 67 times attended: Calvin, the non-paranthetical. He’s been so amazingly supportive of me, even through his own tough times. He gets it. I don’t have many friends, but he is one of them.
#11, a 2-way tie, 68 times attended: Omar (who used to come to my West Village parties a lot; fucked ‘em many times) and Gary (who’s opened and built up a phenomenal business, which is inspiring to me).
#10, 70 times attended: Hector (someone I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with, but who’s become a friend).
#9, 72 times attended: Adam (young guy who was always welcoming to the 1st timers, but hasn’t come in a while).
#8, 105 times attended: Raymond (a regular at my East Village parties, but has only been here twice...ironic, considering how much better this space is).
#7, 107 times attended: Peter (the unfailingly polite and deferential, and to whom I gave my home-made chicken soup).
#6, 112 times attended: Tony (one of my favorites, ever, who just moved back to California, as his work here in NYC was done).
#5, 115 times attended: Kirk (Art describes him as “the perfect man,” which gets no retort from me; sucked his very large dick, once, then had to have my jaw re-adjusted).
#4, 118 times attended: John (of East 7th Street, the best observer of decorum I’ve probably ever met; and a holiday tipper, to be sure, even as he’s told me he’s the most frugal person he’s ever known of).
#3, 124 times attended: Peter (who always has something interesting to say about the world/his world; has been so consistent in his visits, ever since Perry Street).
#2, 151 times attended: John, my best friend, as well as a huge reason these parties even exist. He’s the one you see me hug and kiss, here. He is the kindest and finest person I’ve ever known.
#1, 436 times attended: Art. The most interesting person I’ve ever met, and one of my closest friends. April 2009, I way-less-than-seriously texted him about hosting my own parties, to which he replied, “Then why don’t you?” That’s how this whole thing started.
Every one of these men has been a living angel to me. Without them, I do not know where I’d be.
And I can’t thank them enough.
My dream is to earn enough (I don’t know how yet!) to give each and every one of these guys exactly twice as much as they’ve given to me. This truly is my dream.
An honorable mention to Kevin, who attended 32 of my parties, but died tragically three years ago. I still talk of him and thank him from the physical world.
Ö Ö Ö
This new space has been awesome. A lot of guys tell me it’s the best space they’ve ever been to. I don’t know that it’s the best space, as I haven’t been to every other space, but I do know it’s my favorite of any space I’ve been to. It’s big, clean, and seems like it was made specifically for our purpose.
At first, some people in the building, and other associated with it, didn’t like what was going on. However, upon meeting me and seeing how I run things, as well as the guys who arrive/leave, there is no longer a problem.
This is a testament to the types of guys I invite here: no-attitude grown-ups. Y’all don’t hang around the building, make noise, nor leave garbage anywhere.
I absolutely do screen.
Even though I’ve written about this before, it’s about time I re-visit it, which is to talk a little about me, how I do things, and how I run the parties.
These are examples of the type of person I am. I walk on the right hand side of a walkway, following the general rules of driving. I also obsess about it, which has led me to note that most men over 30/35 do it, this way. I also walk up and down escalators, because I can. And I’m never in a place where I’m blocking foot traffic.
I typically don’t give money to vagrants, but I do sometimes buy a meal and bring it to them. I also tip very well (unless the service really sucks, which may elicit a comment from me, to the worker). I wouldn’t call myself a philanthropist, per se, but if I see someone providing a service or somehow adding something to society, I will give that person as much as I can. Recently, on the Q train, three young performers put on a fabulous, uplifting show. I gave them $20, then asked for the name of the song they were playing (Feel So Close, by Calvin Harris), which I now play at the parties, along with a dozen other of his songs. Last week, I donated $50 to The Center, which I really ought to do more of. Also last week, I gave $10 to a vagrant standing outside the deli across 8th. I’m not sure why.
What I really want to do is be able to have $100 bills on me and give them to good workers. At a K-Mart, for instance, I’d hand $100 to someone who’s just doing a great job; hopefully, that would get some in-store buzz, getting other workers to do a better job. Cashiers are really not what they used to be.
But I don’t have that kind of money. For now, $20 will have to do.
I have a hard time killing anything. Except roaches, but even then. I once found a mouse stuck to a glue trap, still alive, and I freed it. I’m definitley not about having mice, but to see one suffer hurts me.
But I wasn’t always like this. I grew up with guns. My father was a cop and he used to take my brother, sister, and I to his Uncle John’s farm, upstate New York. My father and older brother would go out and shoot woodchucks, and I accompanied them lots of times, but I was too young for the .22. I started with a BB gun and developed very good aim. I’d walk around the pond and shoot frogs with the BB gun...if I wasn’t hitting them with a stick.
Summer ’82 was the summer of the gypsy moths on Long Island, when I was 13 years old. I’d run around the backyard, swinging a wiffle ball bat around, whacking flying gypsy moths and smashing the gypsy moth caterpillars on the tree bark, with brilliantly green guts.
Theirs, not mine.
At age 16, I was deemed old enough to shoot a .22 (apparently, my father never knew I shot frogs, or I’m not sure I’d have gotten my hands on a .22). Anyway, I shot my first woodchuck, and that was it. I can still hear the sound of the bullet piercing its skin, it jumping up and writhing back down into its hole. It bothered me enough to never shoot again.
Now I free mice.
I’m revealing these things about me because I want guys to know me, that I’m fair and a pretty good guy. Too often, people in my industry are scummy. I’ve seen hosts like that. I’m not one of them.
Ö Ö Ö
I sometimes come across as a “rulesy” kind of guy. The only rule I have posted in the space – and one which I’m serious about – is no used condoms anywhere but in an ass or in a trash can. The only other thing I tell 1st timers is to be careful of the stairs and the loft bed. Other things, like paper towels in the toilet, using cell phones, and speaking volume, should be something guys ought to either know going in, or at least be able to figure out and adapt, once in the setting. This can’t be true of all the guys I want at the parties, so sometimes I address it, if I see it. If someone has a problem with it or just doesn’t get it, I remove him from my list.
There are some quasi-rules that I have, but they’re only in place to help ensure a good flow and a sense of trust in me. I ask that guys not hang out in the kitchen area, which is out of the way of the party. I don’t think anyone’s actually asked me why, but the reasons are safety and trust. The bags are back there. You may know that you’re not going to try to take anyone’s else’s belongings, but that doesn’t mean anyone else is wondering if they hear someone fidgeting with a bag back there. That’s a big reason why I spend most of the time at my station, near the kitchen: guys trust me to keep watch over their things.
It’s also a big reason why I don’t play.
My station is also located right outside the bathroom, so I can A) clean it regularly and B) know if the bathroom’s in use or not. One of the biggest mysteries to me, in doing these parties, is why guys almost never leave the bathroom door open when they’re done. Subconsciously wanting to cover up the stink? Maybe, but that doesn’t account for most guys, who weren’t shitting in there, anyway. Guys try to enter the bathroom when the door’s shut and the light is obviously on, too. I always open the door back up, but usually the next guy closes it, when he’s done. Keeping the door open when no one’s using it makes things easier and clearer for all of us.
But telling people what to do really isn’t my trip, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve never had anyone work for me. I know of hosts who dig that aspect. I’d rather just do it, myself. This way, I know if the bathroom’s been cleaned or not; that the paper towels need to be checked; that so-and-so’s bag is located on a certain shelf, because it’s big. That the gate is definitely locked.
The best way to keep control of a party is to have a constant and respected presence. When a guy first meets me here, right off the bat he likely realizes that I’m not a flake, that I’m good at what I do, and that the guys respect me. Being naked, in a foreign place, can make a guy feel vulnerable; I get that. I try to create an environment where guys feel safe and comfortable.
It’s also a primary reason I don’t play at my parties. When I used to, there were too many times where I was lubed up and just about to get in – or just got in – only to see someone needed his clothes bag or the bell rang. It’s not as much a let-down for me as it is the dude I’m about to fuck. And, sex head and work head are very, very different, and combining them or overlapping them isn’t just difficult to do, but also really not good to do. One of them has to take over. Guess which one: work.
Plus, it’s your party, not mine. I’m here to work for you. Period.
These are things I consider when screening, too. I try to filter out guys who might be assholes, flakes, or just really nervous, any of which is more than capable of messing up another person’s experience. Men who are demanding in their profiles or who use a lot of capital letters, are guys I might project to be potential downers or jerks. As importantly, I do not want anyone coming who, I’m fairly certain, will not have a good time. Probability dictates that I’m wrong, at times, but that’s better than bringing in an element that counters the vibe I strive to achieve at each party, or just disappointing someone.
And just because someone’s not right for a party, doesn’t necessarily mean he’s just not right. Different strokes for different folks. There’s a party I’ve been to a couple of times where the guys are very talkative. That’s totally not my trip, but that doesn’t make it bad. I like friendly guys who might strike up a conversation here, but it’s kept a volume and a frequency that’s conducive to sex. Like a dimly lit room, rather than bright lights.
One (very young) guy at that party kept following me around and trying to strike up a conversation, to the point where I had to say, “You’re making me uncomfortable.” He replied, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Shit yo. For a second there, I thought I was at a lesbian sex party.
When I screen someone out, there’s really no good way of telling him. It’s sort of like turning someone down at a bar; it’s uncomfortable and the guy is never happy with the explanation. So, sometimes I don’t reply to the RSVP, but most times I copy/paste: “Thanks for RSVPing, but I don't think this is your kind of party. Been doing this a long time and I'm just trying to save you time and expense.”
One guy, on adam4adam, accused me of being a racist. I was responding to his RSVP online during a busy party, so I quickly replied, “Thank you for RSVPing, but I don’t think it’s a match.”
He did not like that.
In his two-note response, he asked, “I’m not white enough for you?!!” It was like someone accusing me of not liking music or hockey or anything that’s the polar opposite of what I’m about. I replied, “I love diversity. All races, all ages. I merely thought your profile didn’t make you sound like a nice guy.”
Turns out I was right.
I want a diverse group.
To me, the best characteristic a partygoer can have is being existential. The ability to make the most of a situation, without expecting too much from it. I’ve done a lot of these parties, and the clearest thing I’ve learned is that the guys who have the most fun, are the most fun, and they make their own good time.
Ö Ö Ö
I’m launching a program for guys who’d want to promote my parties. It’s a paying gig. Email me if you want more information or you read about it in an upcoming weekly email.
The Örgy Guy