It swarms with fashion boys, cruise queens, velvet mafiosi, and fag hags all blathering away to the beat, and though I always assumed they were dishing designers and sex, I was wrong they only talk about sex. Last week, I strapped a condom onto my ear and eavesdropped on all the three-sided erotic hodgepodge and can now report this 100 percent accurate batch of overheard glib gab. He's the worst lover. No, not even passive he's not there. He just lays there and starts talking about himself.
Every park has a back room.
It's such a gifted profession. They create this eroticism because of the money. I really respect that, because there are times I'd like to have sex, but just can't bring myself to. There was this cute boy, but I said all the wrong things. He was very sexual, and he came buckets.