there’s a buttcrack epidemic sweeping my world . . . and it’s a lot more addictive and dangerous than the rock cocaine i smoked years ago at the Adonis porno theatre on Eighth Avenue . . . there i was at the Pier Party on Sunday looking at all the guys with their shorts and jeans hanging midway down their hips and wishing that i had Lara Flynn Boyle’s tongue in MIIB . . . plenty of anuses would have gotten an anonymous tickle when all eyes were on the fabulous fireworks and the less fabulous performances (can’t we come up with something a little more original than Madonna & Donna Summer impersonators? and Kristine W. belongs in a studio, not on a scaffold) . . . nice pecs used to really get me going . . . there’s a bumper crop of tits in the Park this year, David, my witty and long-gone ex once said . . . but they never got me as horny as the hint of a dark valley, just below a high contrast tan line, descending into two firm globes of smooth flesh . . . the homo version of cleavage i suppose with low slung pants functioning much like a push-up bra . . . as soon as the dance ended i headed for the Ramble on my bike in search of something more than visual stimulation while my companions went home to nap before their afterparty at Allegria . . . not the way i would have preferred to end my weekend, which included spotting Rollerina (in flats) and shaking Andrew Cuomo’s sweaty, unelectable hand at the parade, but hey, gay men do not live by pride alone . . . it didn’t take me long to hook up with a couple of guys desperate to get fucked . . . i refused the first because he didn’t have a condom . . . the second eagerly swathed me in lube and latex but the old in/out didn’t do the trick even after ten minutes of pounding him against a bench and twisting his head around so that i could kiss him until he broke the silence with an unmistakable grunt . . . by now it was past 1 a.m. and during Guiliani time, that was enough to get u arrested . . . then again, during Guiliani time, the cops would have made it impossible to stick anything other than a plunger in somebody’s ass in the Ramble . . . how quickly things change: once again the place is a sexual free-for-all . . . during my final tour of the night, i crossed paths with a beautiful, shirtless guy who stopped in his tracks when i turned back to look . . . he couldn’t have been much more than 25 and even in the limited light, his buttcrack positively glowed . . . c’mon give it to me he urged as i sucked on his nipples and passed my hands lightly over the curve of his grinding ass . . . seconds later, after he dropped his pants, i was heaving inside him . . . did u give me your load? he asked as i shuddered ecstatically . . . yeah, i replied, with a lot more shame than pride.