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10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!

10 Fun Things For The Gays To Know For The Houston BBQ Cook-Off This Weekend!

HOUSTONMARCH 2 —As every Houstonian that owns a television or any kind of social media knows, rodeo season is upon us. The trail rides are rolling into Houston’s Memorial Park and a temporary tent city has been built in the parking lot of NRG stadium. Welcome to Houston, home of the world’s largest barbecue cook-off hosted by The Houston livestock show and rodeo.

But if you’ve never been to World Champion Barbecue Cook-off there are a couple of things you need to be aware of. Since that ‘gay cowboy’ movie certain phrases shouldn’t be said. “I’m gonna pump you full of lead,” is an absolute no. “You stay here while I sneak around from behind,” is also one to stay clear of. But most of all “saddle sore,” shouldn’t be spoken.

We’ve compiled a list of ten things you were going to see this weekend. Lets mount up and get our boots on!

TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-3 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!

Rodeo Season
A Time For The Gays To Put
On Their 'Cowboy' Costumes

10

Port-A-Pot
Village

9.

TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-1 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!
TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-8 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!

Cardio Girl!
All The Walking!

8.

There Is No Parking!
Take Uber!

7.

TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-9 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!
TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-5 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!

Yassssss!
Drunk Cowgirls.

6.

Rodeo King!
And Bar Queen!!!

5.

TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-6 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!
TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-10 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!

Makes You Hungry !
Aromas Cologne!

4.

The Bull Is Not Your
FRIEND!!!!

3.

TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-2 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!
TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-7 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!

Bottomless
Does Not Mean
Bottomless

2.

The Pig Races
Are Not A
Fetish

#1.

TOP-TEN-HOUSTON-BBQ-COOK-4 10 BBQ Cook Off Tips For The Gays In Texas!

Individual Diagnosed With Meningitis After Bunnies On The Bayou

Individual Diagnosed With Meningitis After Bunnies On The Bayou

An Individual Who Attended Easter Weekend’s Bunnies On The Bayou In Houston Has Been Diagnosed With Meningococcal Meningitis According To Health Officials!

(Houston) – An individual who attended Bunnies on the Bayou  on Easter Sunday has been diagnosed with Meningococcal Meningitis, the City of Houston’s Health Department announced late Saturday. Health officials and Bunnies on the Bayou are in the process of notifying attendees.

‘There may be unrecognized cases who were in close contact with this person,’ a e-mail released to the LGBT community from Bunnies on the Bayou explains. ‘This is an example of public health in action in order to prevent further cases.’

“The City of Houston Health Department contacted us about one person who was confirmed and treated,” Josh Beasley, board member for Bunnies on the Bayou explained to About News. BOTB is an non-profit, and one of Houston’s oldest and most prestigious organizations that raises money to help many different LGBTQ charities.

“To our knowledge, this is the first time in 40 years something like this has happened,” Beasley says.

Meningococcal meningitis is a rare but serious infection that can be fatal or cause great harm without prompt treatment. As many as one out of five people who contract the infection have serious complications.

Each year, approximately 1,000 people in the U.S. get meningococcal meningitis, which includes meningitis and septicemia (blood infection).  According to the Centers for Disease Control, about 15% of those who survive are left with disabilities that include deafnessbrain damage, and neurological problems.

“The epidemiologist said there was a lower risk of transmission in this case, but asked if we would email information out just in case,” Beasley said.

The symptoms include sudden onset fever, headache and stiff neck. Nausea, vomiting, sensitivity to light, and confusion are also symptoms. Symptoms may appear quickly or over several days, typically within 3-7 days after exposure. The virus is not spread by causal contact nor is it airborne.

Officials ask if you have experienced any of the above symptoms please contact your health care provider immediately. For any questions or concerns you may also contact the Houston Health Department at 832-393-5080.

 

 

… and the The Hungry Butthole

Less Than Butterflies Gay Dating Houston Grindr

Less Than Butterflies, No. 5

It was one of those fairy tale moments; a guy I’d been swooning over for a year or so and I had asked me for a date once he returned home from the holidays abroad. In my fairy tale, I was the princess (or maybe just the gay prince) who met another gay prince at the ball, fell for him, and was asked to dance with him before his entire court and all of his constituents. They watched in awe, knowing how wonderful a couple the two princes were, happy to see their separate kingdoms (his Cypress and mind Washington Heights) may someday become one. Only, in my fairy tale, I was also sleeping with another prince who hailed from the Kingdom of the Woodlands, but we weren’t exclusive, so it didn’t make me slutty.

But just like in every fairy tale, there arose a slight … complication.

Let us say that one of my many loyal subjects—in this case, my ex-boyfriend, Kevin—ran into me (still a prince in this scenario) at a local peasant pub, where I’d gone incognito to enjoy a drink with my lessers. There, Kevin stated he’d heard of my impending courtship and was happy I’d found someone new. He had but one question:

“What are y’all going to do about the sex?”

“Huh?” I asked Kevin, my kingdom suddenly under attack.

“Well … you’re both tops,” he explained, as though this were off-hand information I should have known. And just like that, my fairy tale was over. The dragon couldn’t be slayed. The land had been plagued by famine and locusts. Evil had triumphed over good; and, apparently, evil was a top.


Just like any athlete preparing for a big game, it felt necessary that I practice bottoming before the big night with Tyler, the aforementioned prince, which was still a week out. I figured that seven days was plenty of time to prepare myself not only physically, but also mentally for the pounding I was about to take.

I hadn’t the slightest idea as to what I was looking for when I entered the sex shop and was greeted by a wall of cocks in a variety of colors, sizes, shapes, and girths. The saleswoman was helpful, if not a bit intrusive, about what I was looking for and what I was hoping to do. I let her know immediately that I wasn’t there shopping for a new Bible. She responded to my cattiness the way most straight women react to gay men—with amory.

Soon, we’d settled on the Billy P-spot vibrator by Lelo, as it came in a lovely Bordeaux color in which I briefly considered painting an accent wall in my kitchen. I soon decided against it, unsure of how I’d sneak my new vibrator into Lowe’s to compare the color to paint swatches.

Next came the more technical and often confusing side of the shopping: lube, toy cleaning products, a little weed, and—for better or for worse—an enema. I knew before I’d even locked myself in my bedroom that this process was going to take time. I canceled plans; I poured myself a glass of wine; I lit enough candles to warm the inside of a frozen Hot Pocket;  I put my phone on airplane mode; I smoked a cigarette to calm my nerves, and then a bowl to actually calm my nerves. I was absolutely certain that I could not screw this up, but was almost just as certain that I was going to end up doing so anyway.

You have to keep in mind that my entire adult, gay life, I’ve only ever topped. Maybe it would have happened differently if I’d ever been in a situation where I wasn’t the only top. But in the years I’d been slutting it up from The Woodlands down to Galveston (not to mention a few times in DC, Indianpolis, Denver, San Diego, Orlando, and a few other major metropolitan areas), I’d always had the good fortune of falling into bed with bottoms. This was a new experience to me, yet not one to which I was vehemently opposed. In fact, I’d always told myself that I would someday do it if I were to fall for a guy that I liked enough to try.

But that was just the thing: it had to be the right guy. And in spite of how I’d opined over Prince Tyler for so very long, I wasn’t certain that he was anything more than just a frog in this fucked up fairy tale. Although, it was lucky that I now had Billy the Vibrating Wonder to use as a magic wand to find out.

So, stoned out of my mind, I laid down in bed after cleaning things out … you know … downtown. I sipped my wine through a straw, pulled off my clothing, and began to lube up.

There’s something bottoms don’t tell you about lube … it’s fucking messy. I briefly considered watching porn during this journey into my entertainment center, but it only took a few seconds before the lube was already getting everywhere, and I decided a laptop may not be the best thing to have nearby while that was the case. Instead, I let my mind wander, turning on the vibrator to its lowest setting and pressing it against my body. Obviously I didn’t go straight for home base. I worked my way around, actually enjoying the vibration against my neck, my chest, my penis, and my perineum (that’s science for “taint”).

And the truth of the matter was that I was really turned on. I mean, if my penis were a teapot, it would’ve been whistling like a lesbian gym teacher during volleyball season. And after a while—and I do mean a while, as I was still pretty freaked out at this point—I began inserting Billy into my end zone.

But it didn’t take long for me to realize that I was in way over my head … or at least … my legs were.

“It was awful,” I said after gulping down a glass of cabernet.

I was joined at Barnaby’s on Fairview by my friends Elaine (straight, married, ginger), Jackie (straight, married, not a ginger), and (oddly enough) Ezra.

“It’s not for everyone,” Ezra told me, a sore reminder that if he could have just fallen in love with me when he had the chance, I could have bypassed this entire situation for the rest of my life.

“I’ve always wondered, how do two men decide how this is going to go?” Jackie asked. “Do you have a discussion before hand? Is there like a sign?”

“A lot of times,” Ezra answered before I could, “when people meet on apps, it’s in their biography. Top, bottom, versatile. Or, yeah, there’s a discussion.”

“But if there’s not?” Jackie asked.

I looked around, trying to keep my volume down as not to disturb everyone that still had an appetite inside the restaurant. “It’s kind of like when you and I go to Olive Garden,” I told her. “You know, because we’re human garbage. But what happens when the waiter puts the breadsticks on the table? We shove them into our gaping mouths. And why? Because we’re—”

“Fat,” Jackie interrupted.

“Okay, well, I was going to say hungry, but that’s fair.”

“So … what you’re saying,” Elaine picked up, “is that there’s …”

“A hungry butthole,” I said. “It’s okay to say it. There are signs. They’re not the signs of real hunger, like your stomach growling or light headedness. They’re signs like a guy wrapping his legs around you when you get into bed to have sex. Or sometimes something a bit like …” I struggled with my verbiage, “… presenting.”

“As in a guy just flashes his anus to another guy like a mating chimp?” Elaine asked.

“As in his body language isn’t as phallocentric as a top’s might be. He dances and shows off his ass. He moves your hands down there when you have your arms around him. He sits on your lap. Those sorts of things.”

“I don’t know that there’s any fact in what you’re saying,” Ezra laughed.

“There is. It’s not like there’s a study on this somewhere. It’s just observation. You wouldn’t know because … well … you’re a bottom.”

“I’m glad you bring this up,” Elaine chimed in. “Because there are times when my husband gets a little fiesty and thinks that we’re going to go down there for that particular activity. And I’m not about it. For women, there isn’t any pleasure. We don’t have a prostate to stimulate. It’s just a lot of soreness and feeling like you’re shitting yourself the entire time.”

Everyone laughed as the other patrons of the restaurant darted glares at us.

I poured more wine. “The soreness is the worst. You’re lucky I could even come here tonight. I feel like a Mormon after a very long bike ride.”

Ezra nodded toward my wine glass, “Just drink your medicine. It’ll get better.”

“Listen, there’s not much I say no to in bed,” Elaine went on. “But I told Charlie,” (Elaine’s husband), “that it’s not that I don’t love him. But he’s very well endowed; and if he wants to do anal more often, he’s going to have to let me shove something up his ass and see how he likes it.”

“He might just,” Ezra pointed out.

“Yeah, straight people are apparently doing that now,” I said. “Pegging, they call it. All our lives straight people have wanted to point out all the things that are wrong with being gay, and yet they want us to decorate their houses like ours, and be their best friends like we are with each other, and help them pick out clothes like we do. And now they’re wanting to have sex like we do!” I knocked back the rest of my wine. “It’s appropriation, and it’s insulting.”


Screen-Shot-2018-01-09-at-3.25.21-PM ... and the The Hungry ButtholeA few nights later, once my not-so-hungry butthole had stopped aching, I received a text message from the other man I was sleeping with on the regular—the Prince of The Woodlands and, in spite of the fact that our relationship was mostly sexual and not exclusive, the man I had saved in my phone as this while drunk one night:

 

Most of our conversations started out that way. We’d hooked up a few weeks ago after chatting on Grindr, and he had turned out to be one of the sweetest and hottest guys I’d ever had sex with in my life. A part of me sort of felt I might be catching feelings, but I tried to scrub these away as often as I could. His name I hadn’t learned until well after our first sexual encounter, but turned out to be Dylan.

I grabbed a bottle of wine from Spec’s and headed from my house to the Woodlands—no short drive when you live in Downtown Houston. Still, I was horny and Dylan was hotter than a ghost pepper in the heat of a Texas July. I was still struggling with this aspect of our sexual relationship. Dylan was certainly way out of my league and I struggled to meander my mind away from my own self-deprecation to just appreciate his hotness when we were fucking around. Still, he kept coming back.

While having sex that night, I noticed that something was different about Dylan. He was not presenting as he had the last few times we’d hooked up. In fact, Dylan had taken on a much stronger dominance in the bedroom than he ever had before. Every time I reached my hand down for his ass, he’d push me down on my back and crawl on top of me to kiss me.

The sex was incredible, don’t get me wrong. In fact, his newfound assertive attitude was a great turn-on; and somewhere there in throes of passion, I found Dylan spreading my legs apart and crawling between them.

A part of me panicked, as I knew exactly was about to happen. Dylan was going to try to stick his dick inside of me and I was going to have to be that person who shut down a good thing because it took a turn I wasn’t there for. After all, Dylan’s penis was huge for a white dude four inches shorter than me, and I certainly didn’t want something even larger than Billy the Vibrating Nightmare inside of me after the other night.

But Dylan did something I wasn’t expecting, in spite of its commonplace nature for him. He took his hands and placed them on mine, palm-to-palm and fingers intertwined. Then he kissed me, and he whispered to me, and he nibbled on my neck and traced lines up and down my body with his tongue. And all the while that he performed these magical sex acts, my legs crawled and curled around his body like ivy up a trellis.

I was in an unexpected euphoria and an unwavering state of ecstasy. I was sweaty and writhing and my hair was likely knotted in the back from moving around so much on my back like an upside-down crab. But suddenly I found my legs not only wrapping around Dylan, but pulling him in closer to me, pushing his pelvis into me and wanting him more and more. It was in that moment that I realized it was me! I was the one who had the hungry butthole! I was suddenly back to my fairy tale in which my sage keepers—fairies or dwarves normally, but in this case, Billy the Vibrator—found me at my journey’s end to tell me that what I’d been looking for was inside of me all along.

Or at least … now it was.

The orgasm was insane. It was not like any other I’d had before. I screamed at one point, which is dangerous when you’re fucking against a wall against which neighbors sleep on the other side. I was clutching at Dylan’s skin like a cliff I had to take hold of as not to fall to my death. But when it was over, I didn’t hang around to chat like I normally would have. I didn’t drink any more wine and I barely kissed Dylan goodbye. I bolted. Right out the door, right down the stairs, right into my car, and right to the bar.

At some point when the endorphins had subsided, it had occurred to me as I lay there, soaked in sweat and semen, that my rule had always been that I would bottom if I ever met a guy that I liked enough to go through with it for.

And as I arrived at the bar, taking a shot and downing a drink, I couldn’t help but ask myself the same question over-and-over again: Was Dylan the right guy? Or, conversely, was it possible that every now and then, under the right circumstances and with a man who knows exactly what he’s doing, every gay man is capable of possessing a hungry butthole?

Montrose Bar ‘Eagle’ Destroyed By Fire

“We were sitting at the bar and started smelling smoke” stated one of the customers. “We called 911 and we all got out.”

IMG_3426 Montrose Bar 'Eagle' Destroyed By Fire
Eagle Houston Catches Fire

The bar sustained massive damage to the second and third floors. The main floor escaped fire damage but took a big hit from water damage. Could this fire been prevented?

Property owner Jay Allen states a ‘state-of-the-art’ sprinkler system had been installed, but due to the City of Houston, it had not been activated yet.  “It was already installed. It was going to be connected to the city’s water service in two weeks. The permit had been approved and we were just waiting for it to be hooked up by the city.” Allen said.

HFD states the call came in at 2:20PM with a total of 11 fire engines responding.

Bar owner Caryn Craig arrived on scene visually upset. Husband and co/owner Mark De Lang arrived a short time later. Both owners seemed in shock and were not talking to the media.

IMG_3401-e1451780248152 Montrose Bar 'Eagle' Destroyed By Fire
Eagle Houston Catches Fire

“We will re-build” Allen told About Magazine. Allen did not know what would happen to the employees in the mean time.

The District Chief for Houston Fire Department stated the fire apparently started on the third level, converted attic space used for storage.
Arson investigators will determine how the fire began, and whether or not it was accidental.