Sometimes, shit goin’ on around you makes you just STOP.
You can’t help but make a funny face. Maybe even look kinda stupid while doing it?
And then you think to yourself: “Fuck it, this is a moment for The Bird.”
Because life’s too short to take every last bit of it too seriously.
Got a problem? No one gives a $%#! because this one was made for one fantastic sit & spin.
Btw, I know it’s “whomever”, but the spacing for graphic integrity is better this way.
I was that American.
You know, the one that flies 6,000 miles away from home – away to a whole new, exciting world – and then, stays in a Holiday Inn. (Pictured above in my Holiday Inn bed!)
In my defense it was the nicest Holiday Inn I’ve ever stayed in . . . so at least there’s that!
Let me first start by saying that I hope this past trip to Beijing for Club Funky is only the start of a very exciting new endeavor for me! The people I met in China were warm, sweet-natured, professional and infinitely enthusiastic. I found it difficult to meet them on their energy output level . . . though, again, it was a 12 hour flight to the other side of the Earth before starting a duo night set of 6 performances
I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m not afraid of digging in and getting a little dirty. I don’t mind sweating too much, either – so long as I can wipe the sweat from my brow before take that memorable selfie together. So China – that was hard work. I’ve recently started cardio workouts regularly throughout my week (for obvious reasons, one being that I’d like not to sweat just hoofing it down the block to grab my morning double shot espresso) and boy was I glad to have done so before heading out there to dance for Club Funky!
Choice 1) Get in quick, do your job well, get out fast with you money.
Choice 2) Arrive well-rested, do your job well, take in the sights, do some shopping and maybe even add a day or two extra so you can do it all without returning HOME needing R & R.
In the case of my first trip to Beijing, I chose option one. Thing is, I’m not in the position to take any trips for fun right now. Sorry to be so frank, but the reality is I’m being much more conservative with how those Fleshjack Toy checks are being spent. Until RealBoysOnline.com is launched and kickin’ there’s not much else coming in for lil ‘ole me. And I’m okay with that, for now.
Also, I was mildly concerned with the language barrier when accepting the gig in China. I know a lot of people throughout the world speak some English. Not many Americans speak anything other than American. I’m, unfortunately, no exception to that stereotype. Being a conversationalist (I much prefer to talk in a lounge/dive bar than shake my ass and sweat in a club on the dance floor) this seemed like a lonely way to spend any chunk of time away from home.
When I got to China, I was mostly proved right. I had to constantly remind myself to slow down when speaking. I had to think about how to say things in a more simple way. The people of China are, clearly, very intelligent. But truthfully, this was a small price to pay to get a glimpse into an entirely different place in the world.
True, I mostly lived off of the protein powder, beef jerky and Gold Fish crackers for the three days I was there, but that’s my fault. I’m not afraid to at least TRY new things, I just want to make sure I know what it is I am trying before I am putting it in my mouth. Looking at pictures and pointing at an entree can be a saucy gamble in a place like China. The one meal I did try to set out and encounter on my own was mostly successful. I kept walking by this dumpling shop on my way to and from the hotel. Finally, on my second afternoon there I got up the courage to give it a shot all on my lonesome. Either I was feeling galvanized by having spent the morning circling the city on foot all alone (just looking at what life and the day to day was like where I was at in Beijing, didn’t go to far because I wanted to make sure I could get home safely) OR I was just that hungry.
So I go in to this place. Take my seat, accept a cup of tea, and begin leafing through a hard cover menu. This menu had clearly been designed for a guy like me in mind. Big. Giant, up-close pictures of all of the meals. Each picture covering each page. The language? All was in Chinese, much of it included a list of ingredients in ENGLISH. Bingo, right?
So I order me up some pork steamed dumplings, a wok pork dish that included noodles, beans and some sort of white kernel looking vegetable that wasn’t corn (So few managed to end up in my mouth. I’m pretty good with chopsticks but let’s face it, my fingers are stiff and stubby).
The waiter doesn’t speak English. None of the wait staff seemed to speak any, either. Before he put the order in he kept showing me the total on his little calculator, digital order-taker device. It only amounted to about 35 yuan. Yet, he seemed consumed with making sure I was aware of the price of the items I was selecting.
When it came time to check out, I placed my business Visa on the counter next to me. There it sat for 15 minutes, completely neglected. I thought at first maybe he wasn’t seeing it. Or, I thought, maybe I payout at the register at the front. But, didn’t want to take my card there with my receipt and risk embarrassing myself (something I did A LOT of while I was in China, I just couldn’t take one more blush-faced incident). So, I waited. And waited.
And then, he came to collect. And he seemed confused. Well, that was a welcome change! For once I wasn’t the one utterly lost on what was going on.
The waiter went to gather a co-worker. We still could not figure out the problem. Then he gathered another. Then another! And then, there were four Chinese employees gathered around one very, very embarrassed, bright faced American man-boy-child (or whatever I am). Manager included. The pressure in the room mounted. The manager began to look a little angry.
You see, I did a foolish thing. I traveled without converting my US dollars to yuan. I figured a place like China would take Visa. Even American Visa.
But I was wrong. Consider the lesson learned. Never, ever ever will I ever again go to another country without their currency in my pocket. This really was more inconvenient than anything else, but c’mon?! How scary, frustrating or embarrassing does something have to really be before you can accept that you know better? In this case, I knew better. I just had to see it for myself . . .
And don’t worry. I didn’t have to wash dishes to pay for my meal. Or take my watch off and use it as leverage.
By some grace of The Universe (Thank You!), I was wearing the jeans from last night (Levi’s!). Deep, DEEP in my back pocket, crammed there and pathetically crumpled up, was a 100 yuan. It was the only tip I had accepted while on stage the night before in one of my “performances”. I had forgotten I even had it at all. And yet, that friendly, good-faith gesture I nearly did not accept (I don’t usually take tips when I am dancing because I’m up on stage for very little time and it messes with my concentration. Takes a lot of concentration not to look as frustrated and out of breath as I truly am when I dance for people).
The girl seated at the table next to mine had to be half my age. Yes, I am factoring in the Chinese rule (they don’t start aging until they are 40). She helped translate for the wait staff of the dumpling joint. She thought I was absolutely crazy for not knowing there was 100 yuan bill just lurking somewhere deep in my pockets. Without sounding elitist I didn’t know how to explain to her I didn’t think of it as money at all. Before producing the yuan I’d emptied my pockets, showing all of the US cash I had, my cards and whatever else was there that just would not count toward adequate payment. So when I finally did supply the yuan, the entire procession of wait staff that stood towering over me and my table was visibly relieved, elated, and nearly cheering. Of course those reactions gave way to a wave of men in aprons scratching their heads (why didn’t he just pay . . . . ?).
The sweet girl asked me why I was there. I just said I was an actor. She asked where the money came from. I said my friend gave it to me. She asked why I didn’t just use it. I just said: “I didn’t want to”. Which now sounds stupid . . . but again, how do you explain where it really came from? A screaming drunk girl with a camera and stars in her eyes bequeathed it to me the night before while I stood above her, waving my bare-naked (I was in a jock strap) tush in her face?! And with that cryptic, illogical response I left her, too, scratching her head while hastily made my exit. (BTW, this is a pic with a fan. I’m pretty sure she did her own Photoshop on it, haha).
That night some of the club owners took me out to eat. I didn’t have to order – just keep an open mind. I tried yak (basically it’s beef but not). I ate goose intestines. Cow throat trimmed into long noodle-like strips. Also, I gave cow stomach a shot (5 chews and down it went with a LOT of beer, no amount of chewing was going to tenderize that). Also, frog legs. I passed on the congealed goose blood. All of this was cooked in a pot in the center of the table, a popular custom in China but not of Chinese origin.
More on other subjects? The club was fantastic! It was one of the nicest joints I’ve ever worked in. The crowd was rambunctious - had fend off some wandering hands more times than the fingers I have to count on. The energy in the place was palpable, something any non-performer can appreciate when moonlighting as a dancer.
For the first time ever in my ten years in porn I had my dance gear dictated to me by the club. I normally wouldn’t let someone else decide what kind of image I was presenting to the crowd-going public. This time, I let it go. I did try to protest on the second night, but my ever-patient “handler” seemed to pretend like he didn’t understand what I was trying to speak with him about.
A few of the pieces were totally cute (one or two didn’t quite leave enough room for all of “me”), For a minute I thought about even maybe quietly acquiring one of the leather jockstraps for myself. But, I thought better of it and left the original pieces at their home where they belong at Club Funky. All were labeled Dugas, but I didn’t have the heart to ask what that meant. Again, I felt a little foolish just for not already knowing. Was it someone’s name? Was it the English spelling of some non-English word. I guess I may never know . . .
Oh, Yeah! And I got banned from Facebook for 30 days for sharing a picture from one of my dances. The club gave me nude underwear with crystals on it to wear in a shower “performance” they orchestrated. Well, apparently you can’t even share an obscure, nude outline of your male parts on Facebook. I guess that makes some sense. But it’s not like you could make out which was my left testicle and which was my right. Or even the shape of the head of my penis. Or, really, what all of it was. Only a trained eye could discern “X” from “Y” and then maybe, through powers of deduction, determine what “Z” was.
I want to return to Beijing and China. I want to see it all, learn a little of the Chinese language, and meet more friends. I know it seems like such a waste to go all that way and not have much to show for it. If I don’t get to go back I will regret that. But I do intend to return, and in that trip I’ll know better what to expect and how to prepare.
Thank you to all of the people that put this trip together! And thank you for taking such great care of me and going to great lengths to ensure my comfort and safety!
One of the exciting things about launching the new website for the Real Boys Online Network is all of the new images we’ve been compiling. Little by little we’re amassing a war chest of beautiful new things for all of you to look at! And do other things with . . .
Check out one of the photographers I recently worked with here: Paul Gunn
I’m not sharing too much more because I’d like the rest to be fresh and new for you when we’re ready to launch.
Enjoy Paul’s Blog!
SPL aka Brent Corrigan