Sunbathing at the Gunnison Beach, NJ on a Weekday

My friend and I were talking while in bed about going to the beach on a weekday. And before we knew it, we agreed to meet in that coming Friday. I was grateful that we had that talk on a Monday, which meant I still had all the time to prepare for what was needed to be done before I could head off to the beach. Thankfully, I even managed to get a second hand bike from someone in the North Shore of Staten Island. On the day itself, the trip to the Gunnison Beach started in a ferry boat from the East River in Manhattan, which I reached after biking all the way from my place in Stapleton, Staten Island. My friend made all the arrangements, and bought the tickets for ourselves, as well as for our bikes. 

I've read about this nude beach somewhere in New Jersey, and even joined a group going in that part of New Jersey years ago but we didn't really go to the designated nude beach. We were in Sandy Hook but in another part of it, and we took the car in going there. But in this trip, I saw the grand-ness and the beauty of New York Harbor on a sunny summer day. Our ferry passed under the Verrazano Bridge that spans the distance between Staten Island and Brooklyn. Sandy Hook lies almost just across the tip of Staten Island. From it, you'll see Manhattan skyline, and you could even identify iconic buildings from among the silhouettes shown from that distance. We biked from the pier to Gunnison Beach, which was about 15 minutes in travel time, if I estimated it right. Approaching the beach, I soon sensed it was scorching hot, and I was soon burning my big toes after walking on the sand as I excitedly cast away my shoes and socks to my bag, and never bothered to put on flipflops. Oh, well, I have to learn something critical each day.

We were soon naked, which we did right there and then (just like in other nude beach areas). And a lot of naked people has been there way ahead of us. But each one of us had enough space for ourselves. 

Check out the pictures below.

The Less Boring and Untold Portion (Up to Now) of What Happened During That Particular Philly Trip

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I happened to recall one lazy Saturday afternoon about the unusual details of this trip I made to Philadelphia (Philly) with a friend who would call me, I have figured out, whenever he needs male company, for one reason or another. He has not been in touch with me for some time now (I don't intend to call him as he has been like that with me even before we went on this trip----he would just suddenly contact me out of the blue). This may sound petty, but I can only surmise that he got pissed by me for having not followed his instructions to wait for him at a certain time at a very specific place while we were visiting Philly one summer as he wanted to do some exploring by himself and thought of giving me the chance to be by myself for a few hours. I could very well be wrong, who would know the real reasons behind such behavior. He just decided to stop calling me since that trip to Philly we made years ago. And now that it's spring again, I am beginning to remember that particular trip where we had a three-some scene with another guy whom we met via online means, which was just like the way my friend and I met each other.

My friend and I were then staying in one of the big hotels in the middle of Philly, where we were using up his reward points so we could stay in those rooms practically free. As soon as I arrived by bus from New York City (NYC), he and I were having sex, eating fancy meals, walking, and touring around the city. We stayed in one major hotel the first evening we were together, and moved to another hotel the next evening, which was better than the first one. From the glass windows, I recall seeing a grand view of the Chrysler Building-inspired One Liberty Place that dominates the skyline of Philly.  From our hotel room the second night, we could see one of the grand fountains in Philly and the main building of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. From what I've seen, the city is pretty, lovely and enthralling during that part of the year. I like its old houses with their unusual spaces found at the back, which were used formerly as garages by families for their coach-driven vehicles  in eras gone by. Philly looked cleaner to me, and I even realized that I could move there if ever I decide to leave NYC. 

But my friend and I felt the certain and creeping sense of boredom after some time of being together. My friend, a widower whose beloved wife died from a terrible accident, of Cuban extract, an artist who created several paintings that hang in his apartment, and who went to finish his art degree in one of those old private liberal art colleges in that part of Pennsylvania, thought that we could use Craigslist to make a more fun, adventurous trip while being in Philly. 

Remarkably, my friend also took the chance to introduce me to the nuances of society in his neck of the woods here in the East Coast. I would listen to him with some fascination and would be grateful for the unsought-after briefer on class, society, differences and struggles that people and their communities encounter here in the East Coast, which experience got me into thinking that I'll always remain a foreigner here in the USA because I remain to be largely strongly unaware of the issues that affect most people's lives here. People here lead complicated social lives, apparently, in ways not usually shown in most regular Hollywood-style movies. I would fail to catch his drift from time to time (which could have been similar to how he was taking me as a friend from the Philippines, a country that shares a similar heritage to his maternal country, Cuba). I should say my friend meant well over all, and wanted to introduce me to his reality---he grew up in poverty in NYC, and wanted to share as much to me who has transplanted myself years ago in this city when I turned 40 years old. I probably was causing him to remember bad parts of his past by the way I would question him, which I did mainly because I wanted to know him better. 

And we went on checking postings on Craigslist that have appeared during that period. Before the night was over, we were soon connecting with someone whose name is 'Maxx', which I know could be his real name. After a brief exchange of emails which my friend took charge of, we agreed and made arrangements to pick him up somewhere on a street that's a block or two from the hotel where we were staying. I don't know if we were told that he's black, but discovering soon that he's one didn't really bother me. As with most black guys I met, he's barrel chested and with a shaved head, had heavy built, had some eyesight problem related to weak (most probably, it seems to me) muscles, and he stood at least 3 inches taller than me. Needless to say, he's attractive, friendly, brave, sexy, and in heat. He told us that he works in an office in New Jersey, based on what I could still recall now.

We were soon in our hotel suite in one of the higher floors of the building, and which luxurious-looking suite includes a small living room next to a bathroom, a room with a queen size bed in addition to the main bedroom that has the big bathroom with built-in spa features. I don't remember if the three of us set ground rules first, but I recall we started right away in playing with each other sexually. I recall having been nervous a bit; I didn't know what to do first given all these possibilities that would come to my mind. Of course, you don't regularly engage in these events----porn movies I've seen that show three-some (or more) scenes usually don't have strong and believe-able storylines that could serve as easy guides.  

Outside of my bathhouse experiences, I've not done threesome for some time and I don't remember having done it with the third guy who is black (although I strongly remember being with a black guy and a third guy who merely watched us fucked each other). In our threesome that night, my friend's a Latino, and I'm Asian. As soon as we have taken off our clothes and my friend had sufficient lubrication, I started to penetrate my friend as he and I continued to kiss each other. We have done something similar in our previous meet-ups in his apartment in the Lower East Side. He was already familiar with my style, and I knew we were both enjoying each other.

Maxx was merely sensing and watching how to go about with his act, and he would be joining us soon and I would kiss him on the lips as well. I kept on thrusting myself into my friend as Maxx and I continued kissing. My friend would be sucking Maxx as he and I would continue kissing. The evening went on about with its business of completing its presence during that memorable time happening among the three of us. My friend would then be fucked next by Maxx who would continue kissing me. I recall the three of us cuddled and hugged each other a lot. The three of us came and had our respective orgasm finally after some extended moments spent being sexual and responsive with each other. 

It can't be denied that I had total satisfaction with what we did. But at the back of my mind, I was wondering what would have happened if I led Maxx to fuck me. With his size, I wonder if I could even handle his load, although I probably would do better as I'm bigger in size than my friend who was able to keep his size without too much trouble. Thankfully, Maxx didn't push with the idea of him fucking me. I heard him give me credit for taking care of my friend as I went on and continued to stimulate my friend so he could come finally. The experience was mind boggling; I knew coming wasn't necessarily the end goal of that encounter. My friend and I would spent time kissing each other on the lips. Max would just watch as my friend and I kissed in the most loving manner. Max probably figured out that my friend and myself are more than friends, at least for those moments. Everything went about becoming spontaneous from then on among the three of us.

Although my friend has since then never contacted me after that Philly trip (I do hope, he's still around), Max texted me at least 3 times since that encounter. He was inquiring when we're going to meet again. It may take awhile, most probably, as I don't come often to Philly. And I've since then lost his number after losing my celfone including those names and numbers in my directory (I still didn't realize that Google or Yahoo can be used as online directory, which I should start doing soon). I do hope he'll get to read this (or someone who knows him will tell him about this), and will attempt to contact me, any which way available to and working for him.

Some Cruising Mini-Adventures in Central Park's The Rambles

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I don't know how I discovered this particular area in Manhattan's Central Park but I knew right away that something seriously sexual happens in the said location. Admittedly, I've had several encounters there but I haven't been in the area as often as I used to cruise most actively back in Intramuros, Manila in the Philippines. I think it's the age factor and the idea that it's not really new to me as it used to be when I was back in the Philippines. And I would proudly tell about this discovery to another good friend who's now also based in New York City (NYC) and has since then introduced the location to some of his choiced friends.

Actually, I'm also proud that my loads of experience in cruising back in the Philippines would help me make it with other men who are on the look out for other men mainly for sex in public spaces here in NYC. I've seen similar scenes in Los Angeles a few days after I arrived from the Philippines; a new found friend brought me to a park, which has a space turned into something like an elevated man-made lake surrounded with trees and designed to collect water for use during long dry summer months. I saw some really serious scenes there among men who would openly do everything they have in mind under the very bright glare of the sun. Some of them were, needless to say, really goodlooking and interesting. I could only watch in silence, loaded with envy and would get so physically hungry.

At the Rambles, I've had a few experiences, and I could even remember all of them. I've not been that back as often as I wanted to; Central Park's mainly designed for activities other than cruising. And I assume some would think I'm committing something sacrilegious by thinking and using Central Park for more earthly, passion-driven basic activities. But the park, on the overall, is basically designed as well to meet and have fun with people, even for a few, furtive, secretive moments, which I've learned would happen openly even with the efforts of the cops and other concerned citizens to control such activities. It can't be denied that there's a market for such activities to happen in Central Park, although I know nothing commercial of the sexual variety happens there.

I recall making it with a black guy whose father was a black German in Nazi Germany and who married another black woman from the US. Before our meeting, I never had an idea that there were Black Germans as I recall blond headed people from movies I saw about Nazi Germany. This black guy and myself would end up being together after kissing each other and in finishing our scene together in front of the Bethesda Fountain that very late evening.  I even saw a wild raccoon stepping out for some time and standing beside us as we were working on our steamy poses. And I knew I was scared as any time the guards would be showing up. Not surprisingly, he's among the most endowed fellows I've met so far, which size I don't particularly remember because I focused much on the passion I felt from him while we were kissing for so long, such that we decided we had to finish the act by making sure both of us would come.

And I would still recall with some fondness over making it with a very blond medium height, goodlooking guy with a bit of a tummy and who works as an airline purser. It was summer and he was in his shorts, white undershirt and flip flops as he explained he walked all the way from his Upper West Side apartment to the Rambles. He happened to work with someone I knew and he would even share me some gossip about this guy, who happens to be another interesting blond fellow who's a Mormon and was happy about his life here in NYC. It was embarrassing learning about those things from him as we proceeded to do what we wanted from each other. I was happy making it out with him. I was wondering why he seemed not to be sweating at all, as if he's got no sweat glands, which observation is something that can not be said about me as I'm a huge sweat-er as a person as long as I could remember. I was sure I would be sweating profusely if I was in his position, especially with those actions we were doing to each other.

And I would recall making it the first time I ever did cruising at the Rambles with someone of big build, 70's-style mustachioed on his doe-eyed brown face, who's a Latino blue-collar-worker-type guy who spoke Spanish to me, as soon as he set his eyes on me. As I would soon discover, he was really fun to be with during that particular afternoon encounter while I could hear some water droplets dripping continuously somewhere. As I was working on him, I looked up at him to see his facial reactions. I was surprised to see he's been knitting something with both his hands. Upon being asked, he explained that he was making a sweater for the coming winter months. I could only smile to myself as I walked away after thanking him for that particularly unique encounter.

In Loving Memory of a Very Good Friend Who Regretfully Committed Suicide

My first book is now available, in hardcover,  paperback, e-book formats from my online store, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Xlibris.com, Powell's Books, and other online stores. 
We actually met in a nude massage session that used to happen for so many years in an old building almost along the corner of 6th Avenue and 23rd Street in Manhattan. As you would go up the building, you would pass by a gym that had events offering the Brazilian Capoeira to those enthusiastic participants. I would wonder if these fellows had an idea on what had been ongoing in the confines of the walls standing just next to their door. That massage event would usually be posted on Craigslist and I just followed my instincts as I sought out ways to meet up with interesting, unafraid people as soon as I came to stay for good here in New York City (NYC). A number of men showed up that particular night and some of whom created strong impressions on me as each of them, including myself, went about following the voiced out instructions from the organizer, who would demonstrate the various steps, on how to go about giving massages to the one on the massage table up to a certain period and the others would then get onto the table to be massaged. The process is repeated until every one gets massaged. I recall having massaged and gained more confidence in doing massages from at least 15 men that night; I knew I saw a lot of nakedness from among many men, including my own naked self, that night. I would soon find out that that night's session would be more memorable for some other reason. We were not allowed to do beyond massaging and explicitly told not to give happy endings. Everything was supposed to be sensual.

And with that night's massage session being over, I put on my clothes and went out of the building and quickly got into the subway to go home in Jackson Heights, Queens as the weather was cold that night. Inside the system, I saw one of those guys with whom I exchanged massages standing and waiting on the platform; it's not difficult not to miss him as he was lean and tall at 6'4" and was wearing his rimless eyeglasses on. I was soon chatting with him as I decided I would like to get to know him better. Thankfully, he recognized me and we were soon taking the same train going to Queens, which was the 'F,' and we soon surprised ourselves as we were headed to the same directions as we found out we lived one block away from each other. Thinking quickly, I invited him to my building, and suddenly we recognized the need to take action on the attraction that we had for each other. I explained that I live (then) with roommates and I let him in to my tiny bedroom. Nothing happened yet between us at that point. On our way out of my apartment, as it was already becoming late as both of us had to work the next day, we were soon kissing each other on the lips and kept on doing so warmly and intensely. We promised to keep in touch as we exchanged contact numbers. We also kept on kissing each other on the lips as we also groped each other's bodies while waiting for the elevator to come to our floor. It was quick but indeed memorable.

That meeting led to more meetings between us and we would go out to watch Broadway shows together. I would call him the next day and would leave a message, which he returned as soon as he was able to do so. In due time, I was happy being introduced to Broadway culture by someone who moved to NYC precisely to live well and be in the very center of American culture. He would tell me that when he was still a young boy, he pointed out most clearly to his parents that he wanted to move and live in NYC. A Juilliard graduate, he's a musical composer and was then working with a non-profit organization. I would never know why but I would recall having revealed a lot about myself to him, including other stuff that I would now hesitate to share to my closest friends.

With guilt feelings over what I still have in my heart for someone I had lived with for at least 8 years back in the Philippines, I stepped out of my scared feelings and sought out warm company from someone I definitely liked receiving it from. It wasn't difficult to become so involved with him as he's a willing and tireless listener and possessed such a kind hearted personality that I couldn't believe I would meet in NYC. I would just wonder, though, that it was difficult to reach him every now and then. And I had the pleasure of learning that he's from the MidWest and he would go out of his way to interpret and explain the quirks of US culture to someone like me who transplanted himself in the US East Coast. He didn't really explain much, but went out of his way to show me examples so I would better undertand and appreciate better the ins and outs of US culture. For example, we were watching a movie on 'All About Eve' and he would let me watch and note how one of the actors would laugh on screen over hearing that someone's from Wisconsin. I didn't really the get idea at once, but I would later understand the implication, especially because he's from that state.

We went as well to nude yoga sessions, which he introduced to me by way of his invites to me to the nude yoga studio so he would have a ready partner to do certain yoga asanas together. We were in the studio for some sessions, and I would soon be entralled by the benefits of yoga, which I continue to engage into up to the time of this writing. Actually, I would stop for some time in engaging in yoga after he passed on. For awhile, I could not help but recall that he was the one who introduced me to yoga.

Probably, he quickly had an idea that I was then really a tyro in the city. And that he had a Filipino lover before, with whom he was involved with for some time until this guy moved to another state to get married. He would describe the guy to be a young fellow, someone reared up by his grandmother, an attractive Asian man, doing work in the medical field, with problems on pimples on his face, and one who introduced him to Filipino sentimental music and language. Through this boyfriend, he would also be introduced to samples of Filipino food, including pancit and lumpia. He didn't really relish, though, those sweets made from rice flour, I would remember him telling me about what he thought of those food stuff. I knew that he had loved this guy, which knowledge I learned from several conversations with him. I don't think they had been in touch during the last few years of my good friend's life.

He's the first person whom I've known up close and personal who admitted to me that he happened to be a bipolar, and that had to undergo weekly sessions with his therapist. I was taken aback somewhat upon learning this. But I heard early on from my other friends that NYC's full of people who have raging, emotional troubles. I learned about this on him only after over a year of going out with him. Learning that fact about him, I would be able to explain to myself why he would be unreachable from time to time (as in he would not even take my calls, although we had an understanding that we're more than friends).

I think I would still see him in one of those last nude massage meetings in Manhattan before these meetings ended because the long time organizer could not find a reasonably priced location where he could move the event. I didn't really think much about us unexpectedly seeing each other in one of these sessions, although we had been dating each other more often by then. But looking back, I would get surprised by the thought that I should have learned early on and would come handy when it comes to dating with men who were born and raised here in the US.  It's important to see this kind of situation from the eyes of an Asian guy like myself who was born and raised back in the Philippines. It would have been a major source of a fight and an exchange of hastily hurled accusations if such a scene happened back in the Philippines between friends who behaved like they've been together and had been intimate with each other. Were we not sufficient for each other's particular needs such that we would still need to go out and find other means to meet them somewhere? I would continue to learn and keep on seeking more learning many other explanations on the dynamics, among other things, of my relationship with him.

He had the chance to sleep one time in my apartment up in Inwood when he had to meet up with his young wards from his job at a nearby school to a weekend culture event, and where he would bring some of them to some places in and out of NYC. I don't recall if we went to bed and had sex that night but we definitely kissed each other before going to sleep as I had to catch my sleep for an early work the next day. I left the apartment before him and left him still in bed that weekend. He would profusely thank me for that as it saved him a lot of travel time from his place in Jackson Heights. Also, I would remember him bringing a busload of his noisy, young and undisciplined wards to Hersheys, Pennsylvania, as well as to Toronto, Canada. He worked hard so that his wards would have the best exposure to works and events on culture and the arts. I once attended an annual musical event that he organized in one of those auditoriums close to the Central Park, where I saw him first hand doing his work for those children who needed to be exposed to the kind of culture that members of the upper elite society of NYC would normally have.

We were together that last night when his much-beloved Mom would breathe her last after a debilitating illness. I recall we watched a Broadway show, and it was a winter night. I would receive a text message from him the next day that he had to rush and get into a flight back to Wisconsin to be with the remains of his Mom who died of cancer. For some months over a period of time, we would meet in his apartment where I would share him my thoughts and the accounts of my own experience from having a Father who died due to lung cancer, which was the same disease that his Mom had.

He would encourage me to move again to Jackson Heights to the same apartment where I used to live, after I told him that I was invited again by my old landlord to consider moving again to the said apartment. He expressed a certain kind of happiness over the possibility that we would be neighbors again, and that we didn't really have to deal about distance (even if most places here in NYC can be reached by public transportation). I would study seriously and would consider to agree to his request but eventually, I would decide to move to another part of the NYC, which was in Chinatown, mainly because I wanted to explore the opportunity that would come with it. I would never know now if he took it personally that I decided against his request.

Looking back, I would have wanted to be more closer to him but he must have deliberately kept distance, mainly because of his sickness, his daily job demands, and his other personal concerns. There would be periods when we won't get in touch with each other, but we would always find ways to catch up with each other whenever certain critical events would happen in our respective lives. I would definitely learn that he would also meet other guys thru online means; I even saw his profile from time to time whenever I would check what had been happening in those sites. We would go out to bars together, drinking and dancing. And I would kiss him on the lips tenderly, and I would recall now that he must have been wondering why I was behaving like I was telling him that we should be more exclusive to each other. I now know that I was being mistaken. We just simply understood each other, and had recognized each other's  roles in our respective lives. I know he would tell his therapist about me, too. And I never had the chance to ask him what his therapist had thought about me. Every time I would visit him in his apartment (or every time he would invite me over), we would end up being in bed together, which was almost always wonderful to me. I do hope he had occasions when enjoyed himself as well being with me, which I like to believe he did, as he would come most of the time he and I went to bed together. His queen size bed had satiny-like and very dark-colored, it must have been deep rose in color, sheets, and we must had been in that bed a minimum of at least 30 times. I would particularly remember him on his bed while sleeping in that darkened room, where the form of his body would glisten mainly because of his really pale, white skin.

I would learn much later after he passed on that I was one of the very few people he knew and whom he invited over to his place.  One of his sisters knew that I was her brother's boyfriend, which she asked me upon meeting me at the funeral. Except for his relatives or probably those he met online and he had gone to bed with, he never invited people or his other closest friends to visit him in his apartment.

I was the one who convinced him to create a Facebook profile, which he did one evening I was in his place. I gave him instructions on how to go about it; I noticed how surprised and annoyed he was over seeing very familiar faces on Facebook, some of whom he'd rather would not even even deal with in the first place. I didn't really want to ask why as it's not my business. This Facebook profile is the only link I have of him in my social network that still reminds me strongly of a lot of experiences we shared together; I would notice that his profile pic has been removed by someone (most probably upon learning of his death). 

Now, I can relate some probable reasons that prompted him to commit suicide. What precipitated the event was the prospect of losing a job that he loved at his last employer. He probably couldn't stand being unemployed again, given the situation of the economy then. He was being asked to teach children, but he definitely would not want to do that, even if he was doing coaching gigs for certain students of music. His direct boss, who talked too much that annoyed him endlessly, threw him into the lions' den, so to speak. During budgeting time, his position was sacrificed so that a more efficient structure in their group would come about following ideas from top ranking officers of the non-profit organization where he worked when I met him. It was a few days after his birthday, which period I would recall brought about heavy rains in NYC, when I would learn he committed suicide from a member of his family who called me at home earlier that grim day to inquire of the last time when got to talk to each other. My friend, during the last few days of his life, was unreachable by me, except for a single text message he sent me in reply to my calls and text messages (which was really nothing new, as he would do that to me, every now and then) -- he promised to be in touch (and I'd known he had been in touch with me, in his own special way, even if I knew from him that he didn't really believe in the afterlife). But I would always appreciate he made sure we'd go out together last time prior to his death; we watched a nice film somewhere in Chelsea; we went to a dinner and ended up having some bottles of beer together in a leather bar somewhere in the same district. Strangely, I would recall now during that last night that we were together that he wore the mien of death on his face, which I inadvertently ignored (who would have thought he'd take his own life? and who would like that to happen to him?).

One of the last few times we went to bed together, he would give me a good rimming, which I only allowed after I had to excuse myself so I could clean that part of me below my stomach and so I won't get embarrassed, just in case. He asked, "Is it that bad?" as we had to break after we had indulged in drinks and food that he prepared himself. I wondered why I had to answer and decided not to respond as I stepped out from his huge lounge  chair to excuse myself to the bathroom set next to the wall upon which the chair was placed. After going back, what followed and happened between us was certainly  so memorable as I recall having to ask him to fuck me, which he did and he used his fingers to penetrate me.