Gay to pay

First of all, let me start by saying that I obviously don't have any issues with it. In fact, there is something really attractive about the fact these guys are open-minded enough to go "there. So this conversation lends itself to this question: What type of straight guy does it take to do gay porn?

Gay For Pay Porn Stars: Are They Really Gay?

I am far from an expert on this topic, I am writing this more as a open letter to see what everyone feels about this topic by asking the following questions. Are they really gay? Do they need the money that bad? Is it for attention? I have probably worked with close to 25 gay-for-pay porn stars in the past four months. For me, these guys have really confirmed what I already knew. If sexuality is a black and white sliding scale then every single shade of grey needs to not be left out.

There are some guys who I have worked with that have literally thrown up from sucking another man's penis. Then there are some guys who have girlfriends and multiple kids that will take a cock up their ass like a champ. Even so, to say they have to be gay in order to have gay sex is pretty close-minded.

Do they really need the money that bad?

I definitely think money is the number one driving force behind why these straight men have gay sex on film. Of course it is easy for other people to judge another person's decision to do porn, but the guys I have worked with are doing it for money. Money to support their kids, their education, pay off a debt, and money just to live. Besides that I do think everyone has his or her price. What would you be willing to do if money wasn't an issue? There definitely are some straight guys that get off on the attention that gay men offer them. Women requite a lot more mental stimulation than gay men do.

A straight guy with a hot body would pretty much get attention from 99 percent of the gay population. I say good for them, if you got it flaunt it. It does not seem these guys are originally in it for the attention, but with time I have noticed that they almost become addicted to the fame of it. I am curious what your opinion is on this rarely discussed topic? I would love to hear from some of the gay-for-pay porn stars out there, as well as more experienced directors and producers, and anyone else who has an opinion. From the inside, black people have been fighting a revolution for years.

And finally, white Americans too are striking blows for liberation. Another blast was planned to follow at the Lexington Armory on 26th Street, with Melville delivering the bomb himself with help from George Demmerle, a newer member Melville had befriended on the Lower East Side. Demmerle, an overly rambunctious radical who not only was a member of the Crazies but also held rank as the only Caucasian member of the Black Panthers, greatly impressed Melville.

Had they found his bomb factory? He had to mobilize. The revolution was in full swing. N ot long after the explosive on Centre Street, Demmerle and Melville made their way uptown, to 26th Street. The plan was to chuck the timed bombs onto the large Army trucks parked in front of the 69th Regiment Armory, knowing they would later be brought inside the building. But as Melville approached, he noticed something different than the numerous times they had cased the building. Figuring the action would have to wait for another day, Melville was just about to turn away when he was bombarded from all angles by FBI agents pointing pistols and ordering him to freeze.

George Demmerle. Just like Melville, Demmerle was a man who had left his wife and child looking for purpose in life, but instead of becoming a self-appointed revolutionary, he found it as a low-level mole for the government, beginning in But to Melville, Demmerle was just another comrade in the struggle. How the hell am I going to get out of jail, jackass? A month after his outburst in court, Melville pulled another act of desperation.

After racing down two flights of stairs, he was apprehended. On May 8, , Melville pled guilty to three charges: He was sentenced to a consecutive run of 31 years. Hughey ended up serving two years, while Alpert absconded. While harbored by members of the Weather Underground, she circulated the feminist manifesto Mother Right to much praise and criticism from the radical left, before surrendering in There, abusive guards were the norm, as were ludicrously sparse rations such as a single bar of soap every other month and one roll of toilet paper given out only once a month.

The lone bright spot for Melville was finding prisoners to connect with from the Black Panthers and a likeminded Puerto Rican civil rights group called the Young Lords. Over the course of the next year, Melville sent out a storm of letters decrying the conditions at Attica to lawyers, outside supporters and the New York Commissioner of Corrections, Russell Oswald, while also publishing a handmade newsletter distributed to prisoners on the sly called The Iced Pig.

For many both inside and outside of prison walls, this new awareness of incarceration conditions came from George Jackson, the San Quentin inmate who authored the best-selling book Soledad Brother. When word got out that Jackson had been shot dead during a bungled uprising on August 21, , it set off a brooding fury in Attica. In an act of solidarity, Melville led a multiracial phalanx of prisoners wearing black armbands into the mess hall for a very solemn hunger strike. One guard was singled out for a beating so bad he died a few days later.

Over the next four days, negotiations were volleyed in and out of the prison walls by journalists, senators and the well-known civil rights lawyer William Kunstler. At the end of the sudden and bloody debacle, nine guards and 29 inmates were dead, with Melville reportedly being one of the first to get picked off.

Legend says Melville was in mid-throw of a Molotov cocktail when he was gunned down. As much as that would make for a great dramatic ending to this made-for-TV story, evidence brought up in a civil suit during the s revealed this to be a mistruth, as no such item was found near his body. For an almost year stretch starting in , a group that initially called themselves the Sam Melville Unit carried out a series of bank robberies and bombings across the Eastern Seaboard and the Midwest.

Last year, former New York City Police commissioner Bernard Kerik summoned the name of the Melville-inspired group when arguing that the left-wing protest group Antifa should be considered a domestic terrorist group.

Arching back in his chair to lend further significance to his statement, he puffs on his cigar and continues. While other girls my age were sneaking off with boys and getting drunk, I was becoming a zealot—and trying to convert my parents. O n a summer Thursday evening, shortly after my 16th birthday, my face was pressed into the maroon carpet again. Mildew filled my nostrils and I coughed. I was mesmerized by the way God moved through her. The Secret Place of the Lord was the place we could dwell if we lived holy lives.

In the Secret Place, God would whisper divine revelations to us and show us miracles.

Gay-for-pay - Wikipedia

I dug my face harder into the floor — lying prostrate was how we humbled ourselves before the Lord. I sang, improvising a new melody to the Lord. I felt something release as I sang, something like the warmth of God. I kept singing and the tears started flowing, as they always did when I prayed long enough.

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They dripped off my face and darkened the carpet underneath. I was a homeschooled girl with only a smattering of friends. My best friend, Siena, lived just down the road from me, on the pine-speckled canyon seven dusty miles from town.

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I adored her, but Siena was a public-school jock by then and had way cooler friends than me. I was lonely, and this Pentecostal church had the only youth group in town. Not long after joining, I was all in. I prayed in my room for hours every day. I spoke in tongues and believed I was slaying demons as I prayed in my spiritual language. I threw out all of my secular music.

I went on mission trips to spread the Gospel. I cut out my non-Christian friends. I signed a contract promising that I would protect my virginity for my wedding night. My parents were nominal Christians, but not churchgoers. I deserved parents who would guide me into the Things of the Lord.

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They told me that sin could be passed down for generations and that people born into a spiritual legacy — generations of people who were believers — had a leg up on people like me from heathen families. This came at just the right moment, developmentally speaking: I was leaving behind the childhood fantasy that my parents were perfect and coming to the realization that they were actually just winging this whole parenting thing, and that they sucked at it sometimes.

This is a very normal realization for a child, but at the time, it felt irrevocable and huge. Jessa offered to be my spiritual mentor, and I excitedly agreed. I spent many hours in their living room, talking about my hopes and dreams. Jessa stroked her frizzy hair and told me all about the incredible destiny God had for me if I surrendered everything to Him.

I clung to every word she said.