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  • welcome to the hole

    welcome to the hole

    Once upon a time, I kept a LiveJournal account, gryphons_hole, a deep, dark, comfy little hole in my brain where I kept notes on my life and queerness.

    This is the archive to that account, mostly password protected, adult, queer content, stripped of photo content after the site restructured its photo hosting feature. I hope to restore that content as well.

    If I know you, ask for the password. If I don’t, hope for a generous mood.

    08.18.24 I have realized a need to continue in this space. A kink reawaking if you will, with content that may range into inappropriate for my other blog spaces.

  • Protected: The Continuing Adventures of Nipple-Man

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  • Protected: Bwaaaaaahahahahaha… The Funk is Lifting!

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  • Whew!

    One off the list already.
    The man holding my educated fate
    already responded to my email
    and reassured that anything submitted
    would be reviewed for technical design merit
    beyond actual subject matter. Whew.

    I only met him once, and a long time ago,
    but somehow I knew – or just hoped,
    that all would be jivey.

    Now, just two more obstacles…

  • Metrosexuality = Queers in Advertising

    Exactly how frickin’ gay is the new Brawny guy? WTF? Really, all pouty-lipped, frosting the cake. Finger to the lips when he makes a mess, playin’ with the puppy and big ol’ packed basket in his jeans…

    Mrs. Parker’s birthday? Really? Try Ms. Thang’s birthday. You go gurl!

  • Damned Little Frickin’ Bottles…

    Here’s the thing… I’m a big guy, not big as a house or nuttin’ but big. Big.

    So these stoopid little aspirins that come in the stoopid little bottles…
    ya know – the ones dosed for kiddies and heart healthy regimens…
    The stoopid pill packing people…

    WTF? If you are gonna insist on packing the damn-ass neck of a bottle that is no bigger than my pinkie, couldn’t you at least use cotton wading that doesn’t shred apart into thousands of tiny little floating fluff-wads? Sheesh… Bastards.

    Oh, on the bright side of things, rumor has it that a certain lil’ sunbeam is headin’ into KC tonight. We’re suppose to hook up to hit the beer bust at Bootleggers… I’m so giddy I could just squeal! Or piss myself. Since its a leather outing night, I will have to go with the pissing…

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  • The Story of the Fishnets

    At the previous request of poetrytoweasels, here is the story of how fishnets stockings recently returned to my life.

    Sometime last month, my friend Todd was spearheading a multi-group weekend-long series of fund-raisers for the queer community impacted by Katrina. He did a balls-out effort to involve every gay, lesbian, leather, bear, otter, wolf, slug club in town, and as many bars as possible.

    One such event was the treacherous “Dong Show”… yes, a spoof of the Gong Show utilizing a garbage can lid and a Gigantor-Daddy dildo.

    As impressed as I was with his efforts, and as poor as I was with cash to contribute, I committed to make sure this event had enough craziness to enthrall the masses, especially when I discovered that karaoke technology would be available to use… BING!

    I mean, really, I cannot do that whole lip-syncing thing, why bother? Mine is not the prettiest voice in town, but it has a great quirkiness (especially combined with the power of show-tunes). Throw in my over the top, what-the-fuck-it-won’t-kill-me-if-chemo-didn’t attitude and I threw my glove in the ring…

    Now a little catch-up on my wicked karaoke past. Eight fricking die-hard years of belting out pretty much the same five songs, I don’t give a shit – I’m there. Oh, yeah… the first ever karaoke CD I purchased for my very own? The Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack – duh!

    So, Gryph-N-Furter adds into the line-up.

    Lucky enough, I have a drag-queen friend – which I adore – that just happens to be a big boy like me. Now, I am not looking to do the drag, hairy guy in a dress thing. I want the gender-fuck Frank-N-Furter rules shit-da-bomb!

    Lucky enough, Charles (the afore-mentioned drag-friend) happens to wear 13 EEE shoes – same as me.

    Lucky enough, Charles has in his possession the most kick-ass black patent leather sling-backs (I think thats it) with a killer three inch platform and six inch chunky lesbo-esque heel.

    Now, throw in the black and purple mohawk I picked up at KC Costumes for 10 bucks, my black leather uniform shirt, a freak black bustier, naughty leather shorts and of course – fishnet stockings…

    Lucky enough, Charles knows just where to find big-gurl-sluts-R-us stockings for cheap cheap cheap.

    For those who might not know, I am 6’5″ and 265 pounds and have a mean amount of my own hairy man -cleavage in that weird little bustier. Add six inch heels and a ten inch mohawk…

    The poor little leather boys… they didn’t know what to do. My friends loved it. And I got real purdy when a trash-drag tragedy took the stage. The leather guys had it easy with her cause she was so tragic, but I scare them. So went to great lengths to repeat that over and over to me.

    Before the event was done, I had figured it out. The gender-fuck unnerved them because I was still manly enough to turn them on, but with the fishnets, heels and make-up (oh, yeah, and my own cleavage.) their pretty little lines and boundaries got all screwy.

    That thought gets me fuckin’ hot.

    Lucky enough, Charles still has the ball-busting kick-assing bomb-of-all-bombs shoes!

    (This is why I ended up as…um, I dunno, Bubble.)

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  • Protected: Another from the Hole

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  • Brilliance!

    I just finished watching “Parenthood” on one of the Encore channels.

    I forgot how frickin’ brilliant that movie is… I can SO relate to Steve Martin’s character right now.

    Except, I have ALWAYS been a roller coaster person. I only like the carousel for the pretty, pretty ponies…

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  • Protected: A New Place?

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  • Random Me

    A recurring event in my life flashed through my head while fixing lunch, so I thought I might fixate on it some…

    I have often been accused of being high-maintenance. An accusation I refute each and every time…

    I gots me some weird-ass traits and preferences, sure…

    I like deep, rich colors in my space, not bright.
    (because I am so easily distracted.)
    Whenever I make a salad, I choose color coded ingredients.
    (orange peppers with carrots, yellow with yellow tomatoes,
    red cabbage with raddichio, and so on… yeah, really.)
    I like to find the same serving utensil
    in the same place every time I reach for it.
    (which I never get to experience.)
    I am selective with which colors I wear.
    I want fresh lemon and limes in my house at all times,
    just in case I need them.
    I don’t own a single plastic cup. Glass only.
    I prefer fresh-baked to store-bought. Anything.
    I only want “manly” smelling soaps and candles in my home.
    (Sandalwood, sage, musk, so on…)
    I prefer to arrange my own flowers.
    I am meticulous when polishing my own boots.
    I would rather poke a hole in a cigar than cut the end off.
    I enjoy a dick grinding in my ass crack more
    than I like getting fucked.
    If you wanna get me off, do the same thing to both nipples…
    I think tiny little potatoes rock!
    Always butter, never margarine.
    I NEED my belt to be the same color leather as my boots.
    If it has belt loops, I NEED to wear a belt.
    I like the kitchen immaculate, but the frig COVERED
    in gay magnets and poetry and photos and crap.
    I think of everything else in the room as I position something new.
    Unless it is mercury glass and every fucking color,
    I want no more than three colors on a Christmas tree.
    I don’t sleep as well with someone else as I do by myself. Almost ever.
    The first thing I do – after getting into a hotel bed –
    is untuck the foot of the sheets.
    I always sleep with the covers tucked under my feet.
    I have a specific, exact answer to any question
    as soon as it is asked.

    All this and more…
    and I still hold to the actuality that I am NOT high-maintenance.
    I have never demanded any of this from anyone…
    This is how I like things to be, how I KNOW I like things to be.
    In a restaurant, I order nothing on the side.
    I want to experience the food how the chef wants to prepare it.
    The only choice I need is done-ness (the bloodier the better).
    However you want to fix something, I would like to experience it.
    My friends cannot seem to differentiate
    between my tastes and my demands.
    I don’t ask any of the things of others. I do them myself this way.
    I have never sent back a drink for being too weak.
    I never expect the consensus to change for my opinion.
    Sadly, as a result, I rarely feel I get what I want unless alone.
    I want to experience how other people make their choices.
    To see how conscious they are about them.
    I don’t even expect anyone else to GET me.
    I am always surprised if it happens. It rarely does.
    I know how weird I am. I know what a freak I am.
    That is why it is so easy for me to wander around midtown midwest USA with a nose ring. I know more likely than not, they will find my a freak, so I can make it easier for them.

    Why is it so easy for people to confuse high-maintenance
    with knowing what you like?

    I happen to think I am easy-going and very low-maintenance.
    I would love for someone else to stand strong with his opinions,
    but – whoever it is – he is always so afraid of mine that he cowers.

    One day I will have the opportunity to be surrounded
    by people that GET me. We will embrace each others weirdness
    and the world will tremble with our power.

    I am not high-maintenance. Bitches!

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